The Invisible Girl
by crystaltears24
Summary: You all met Selena, the kick-butt gal that dragged Chase away from the darkness and saved the family from the FBI. She's sarcastic and intelligent yet impossibly still a hormonal teenage girl. But what's her backstory? Before Selena, there was Mackenzie, a scared little girl who was forced to run away and reinvent herself into someone stronger. A Fight Forever-universe twoshot.
1. Part One: Try It on My Own

**Hi, my wonderful readers! I'm back with another Lab Rats story. I was originally planning to post this as a oneshot but decided to split it up into two parts.**

 **I'm really nervous to post this 'cause I feel like it's not some of my best work, so constructive criticism is welcome. But hopefully you guys will like it; I know I had fun writing it. This particular OC was awesome to write, so I hope you enjoy her character as much as I do.**

 **For my new readers, Mackenzie Hudson, aka Selena, aka "Sly", was introduced in my story _Unearthed_. You don't really need to read that story to understand this one, but it would make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside if you would give _Fight Forever_ and _Unearthed_ a try. :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Lab Rats or any of its characters. I only own my OCs and the plot of this story.**

* * *

I'm wiser now,

I'm not the foolish girl you used to know,

So long ago.

I'm stronger now,

I've learned from my mistakes which way to go,

And I should know.

I put myself aside to do it your way,

But now I need to do it all alone.

—Whitney Houston, "Try It on My Own"

* * *

Mackenzie was scared.

She didn't want to play anymore.

"Where are you, you pathetic girl?"

Mackenzie shrunk away, holding her legs tighter.

She didn't like this game.

"Get out here now!"

She winced at the bellow. He was getting closer.

She knew he wouldn't find her this time, though.

Still, she held her breath for as long as she could, shivering amongst the clutter.

The door creaked open and she nearly gasped. She hugged her legs and buried her face between her knees.

Heavy footsteps.

The floorboards cracked and groaned.

He wouldn't find her. He wouldn't find her. _He wouldn't find her._

She was invisible. That was her super power. She was the Invisible Girl.

The footsteps stopped, really _really_ close to her hiding spot.

 _You're okay you're okay you'reokayyou'reokayyou'reokay_

Her body was quivering worse now, her muscles refusing to relax.

 _He can't see you he can't see you hecan'thecan'thecan't_

The footsteps turned away, growing quieter.

Mackenzie sighed in relief, her shoulders dropping.

" _Found you_."

Mackenzie screamed when a hand gripped one of her legs and dragged her out of her hiding spot. "No!"

"Stupid girl," her father muttered and grabbed her skinny arm, yanking her to her feet and dragging her out of the attic, ignoring her cries.

"Stop it! You're hurting me!" Mackenzie tried to pull her arm free but his grip was like steel, squeezing hard enough that she was afraid her arm was going to break. "Let go!"

She fought to keep up with him as he thundered down the stairs. She lost her balance more than once, managing at the last moment to keep her feet under her. Tears stained her cheeks and her nose was running.

"That was too easy," he snapped, towing her down a hall behind him. "You're pathetic."

"I'm sorry!" she wailed. "I'll do better next time!"

One moment she was staring at the back of his head, the next she was staring at the wall.

Her breath caught in her throat, her lips parted. She blinked. Her wide eyes turned, slowly, to look up at her father. A pale hand rose to cup her cheek.

He glowered down at her, his gaze barely lucid.

She couldn't feel the sting, but she knew her cheek must've been turning red from the force of the strike. Her eyes went blurry with tears.

They were moving again, but she barely noticed. Her mind was numb, just like her cheek.

Her father shoved her into her room and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it. Then he lumbered away, muttering under his breath.

Mackenzie picked herself off the floor, having tripped over her own feet. But she couldn't stand. Her legs were weak with fear and exhaustion. So she crawled. She crawled over to her closet and she crawled inside, shutting the door.

She sat in darkness, her cheek beginning to sting.

She sat still for a long time.

Mackenzie didn't like that game.

She didn't like hide and seek.

He always found her. And he always got mad.

He wanted her to hide. He wanted her to hide good so he could look for her. But he got mad when he found her.

 _"You didn't hide well enough!"_

 _"You're so stupid!"_

 _"You can't do nothing right. You can't even hide."_

 _"That was too easy."_

Mackenzie sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She didn't want to make him mad anymore. She would get better at hiding.

She was the Invisible Girl.

She just wasn't good at using her power yet.

The little nine-year-old smiled through her tears.

One day, she'd become invisible.

* * *

"You're not going nowhere tonight," he growled, standing in front of the door with crossed arms.

"Why not?" Mackenzie snapped, her hands fisting at her sides.

"Because I said so, brat."

"You're not my father."

Mackenzie dodged away from the hand that he swung to slap her. She smiled, quite proud of herself, missing the dark look of pure fury that crossed the man's face.

He slammed her against the wall and got in her face, his breath hot and putrid. "Listen here, _girl_. I might not be your father, but them child service runts seem to think I'm the next best thing for you so _shuddup and do as I say._ "

Mackenzie cowered in his shadow, her heart racing. She turned her face to get away from his disgusting breath and saw her adoptive mother standing in the hall, watching them. As soon as their eyes met, however, the woman dropped her gaze and disappeared into the kitchen, not making a sound.

Her "father" backed off, straightening. She turned to look at him, at his angry eyes. He had his hands on his hips, a concentrating look on his face, like he was deciding what to do with her.

Finally, he said, "You'll go to your room early. No supper."

Mackenzie opened her mouth to protest, then paused, something nagging at her in the back of her mind. She sighed, defeated.

"Go," he ordered, and she trudged away, climbing the stairs to her room.

So she sat in her room until nightfall. And she sat in her room as her father locked her door. And she sat in her room . . . for two hours after her parents had gone to bed.

Then, at almost midnight, she crept over to her window, her arms shaking with the strain of trying to carefully lift the heavy frame. But finally she got it up, smiling because it didn't make a sound.

She stuck one leg out onto the roof below her window then ducked the rest of her body through. She closed the window once she was out, leaving a small crack for when she returned.

She grinned, breathing in the freedom as she spun around—

and froze.

The ground may have only been ten feet below, but to her it seemed like twenty.

Mackenzie swallowed, her palms beginning to sweat. She was afraid of heights. Always had been. That's why her father never bothered to lock her window. He knew she was too afraid to try to escape using the roof. Until now.

Mackenzie squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. She could do this.

The eleven-year-old got on her hands and knees and inched towards the edge, her hands shaking against her will. She paused, hesitating. What if she broke her legs?

No.

 _I can do this._

She turned until she was facing her window, lowering one leg over the edge, then the other. She lied down on her stomach, trying to control her breathing. She let her body slide, little by little, until she was hanging in the air, her hands gripping the edge of the roof.

She stared up at the night sky, trying to muster up the courage to drop down. Her arms shook from the effort of holding herself up.

 _I can do this_.

She took a deep breath . . . and let go.

Time stood still.

Her hair whipped in the wind in slow motion, caressing the skin of her face. She blinked at the stars, captivated by the vastness of them.

Her arms were raised, level with her shoulders. Her sleeves danced on her arms, tugging upward as if they were trying to rip free.

Time resumed.

And she hit the ground.

She landed on her feet, her knees bending to cushion the impact. But she lost her balance, crashing onto her back. Stunned, she lied still for several moments, barely breathing. The rush of adrenaline from her fall still coursed in her veins, and she couldn't forget the weightlessness of her body when she'd let go.

Is that how the birds felt?

Mackenzie finally moved, climbing to her feet, her back aching. She paused, biting her lip. If she wanted to meet up with her friends, she would need money. And her dad never let her keep her money.

But she should just go now, while she was able to. She'd find a way to have fun with her friends without money.

But then again . . . taking his money right from under his nose would feel great.

Mackenzie breathed softly as she crept onto the porch and turned the front door knob. She winced when she opened the door too fast, a loud, squelching inhale breaking the silence as the door swept away from its frame. She tiptoed inside, but she wasn't used to walking around the house in the dark, and many times she lost her balance, gently knocking into things.

The money was in a hollowed out book . . . on the bookshelf. She found the bookshelf easily, but she couldn't find the right book, not in the dark. There was a lamp nearby. Light blinded her as she flipped on the switch.

She turned back to the bookshelf, blinking away the afterimages of the bulb that were burned into her retinas. Ah, there it was. She reached up and tipped the book towards her.

"What are you doing?!"

Mackenzie jumped, pulling the book off the shelf by accident. It fell to the floor and cracked open, money spilling everywhere.

Her adoptive father stared at it for a moment before looking up at her, his eyes alight with rage.

"I've had about enough of you," he snarled, stomping over as she backed into a corner. She tried to duck, but he grabbed her hair and tossed her out onto the living room floor. "It's no wonder why no one wants you!"

Mackenzie screamed when he kicked her in the side, once . . . twice . . . thrice . . .

"You're such a pain! You can't do nothing. You ain't going to be anything but dirt." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, only to punch her down again. He straightened, watching her as she curled into the fetal position.

Her whole body shook and ached. She sent out a silent plea for help, daring to believe for one second that someone would hear her.

She heard him huff then go into the kitchen, getting a glass of water. She couldn't find the strength to move, her mind paralyzed.

He was coming back!

Her breath quickened and she drew her legs in tighter in anticipation, waiting for another strike.

But it never came.

He stepped over her body and walked upstairs, as if nothing had happened.

Mackenzie released her pent-up breath in a long sigh. She couldn't even find the strength to cry. She drifted off, right there on the floor, her muscles slackening until she was no longer wound into a tight ball.

And that's how her mother found her the next morning.

Mackenzie blinked open bleary eyes at the woman, who was shaking her awake. ". . . Valerie?" she mumbled, her body protesting with pain.

"You need to get up," her mother whispered. "You need to get up _now_."

Mackenzie could only stare at the woman as she helped the girl up.

Valerie had become an entirely different person. Gone was the submissive, silent woman. Determination shone in her eyes, and she seemed to glow with youth.

Mackenzie didn't realize how young her adoptive mother really was. She was only in her early forties, but she looked fifty.

"You were stupid last night," the woman hissed at her, a hand wrapped around one of Mackenzie's arms. She was surrounded in an air of urgency that the eleven-year-old had never seen before. "You were careless."

They reached Mackenzie's room and Valerie unlocked the door before pushing her inside. But she didn't just close the door and lock it—she stepped into the room _and then_ closed the door behind her.

"You were clumsy," she said, her voice quiet, as she stepped in close to the girl. "You had no control over your body. Your thumping around in the middle of the night is what woke him. If you want to survive, you need to embrace silence. And I'm not just talking about sneaking around the house."

Mackenzie's eyes widened.

Valerie was always so quiet . . . She was always following her husband's wishes without hesitating.

Mackenzie had thought it was because the woman didn't have a backbone, but now . . . She realized it wasn't because Valerie was weak. Valerie wasn't weak—she was _smart_.

That's what had been niggling in the back of her mind earlier! Something had stood out to her, but she hadn't realized what it was.

"The only way to get through this," her mother continued, "the only way to get _out_ —is to become invisible in every possible way." She tossed something at the girl, a container of cover up, who caught it awkwardly. "For your face. You're going to need it for school tomorrow." Then she left.

Mackenzie stood in her room, a newfound respect for her mother shining in her eyes.

* * *

But she didn't go to school the next day.

Or the next.

Or the week after.

Or the next month.

Instead, she stayed home while her father went to work.

And she researched.

She read every article—every tip—on stealth. She taught herself how to crawl without making a sound . . . then how to walk . . . then run, until every move she made was nothing more than a ghost of a whisper.

When she was shipped from foster home to foster home, there'd been only one thing she was adamant on—martial arts. She'd taken them her whole life, up until she was nine, when she was placed into the Hudsons' care, her foster dad refusing to give her anything she wanted. She didn't know how she ended up there, or how Frank Hudson had managed to adopt her.

Even though it'd been two years since her last lesson, she never forgot her routines. They were ingrained in her muscle memory. She'd been a quick study as a kid, and had swiftly moved up the ranks.

Now, after two years, she began to practice again. For hours on end, she'd be in the backyard while her father was away, working through the sequences. She spent time searching the Net on their only computer for new moves, and she started to develop her own style.

In the backyard they had a huge oak tree, with thick branches that towered above their heads. She would use the lowest branches to swing herself up among the limbs. The first few tries, she fell on her back, knocking the wind out of her. But she kept trying. And she finally did it.

Once she was perched on one of the branches, she began to climb—up, up, and up. She climbed until the branches were thin. But she didn't stop there. She dared to go higher, the taste of freedom making her mouth water and giving her goose bumps. She didn't stop until she could poke her head through the leaves at the top, the town spreading itself out before her.

At night, she snuck out to go hang with friends at the bowling alley. She never bothered trying to get the money again. She'd been stupid then. She no longer cared about such trivial things as getting back at the monster that lived down the hall from her. She only had one goal now—getting _out_ , for good.

She went on like this for months, never slowing down—never getting caught.

Her father had no clue that she was skipping school. Her mother knew what Mackenzie was doing, but never said a word. She called the school and pulled her out, to ensure that no stray phone calls from the faculty would ruin everything.

She still played hide and seek with her drunken father, but this time she was letting him find her. She knew that she could hide from him now. He would never be able to find her. But she also knew that his anger towards her would be worse if she hid from him forever. She had to come out sometime, right?

Better to let him call her pathetic and useless than to get beaten from frustration that had been allowed to build for hours.

But things were getting worse, little by little.

Frank Hudson's sanity began to deteriorate—he'd already had a preexisting mental disorder, but he'd been on his meds while they fostered Mackenzie (she had figured out when she was older that that was how she got adopted, because he was almost normal then). His drinking grew heavier. He became more violent, slapping Mackenzie around after their games of hide and seek.

But she didn't retaliate.

She took Valerie's advice and just focused on becoming invisible. She trained hard, pushing herself to her limits and beyond. Because she knew that one day she wouldn't be able to practice anymore, and when that day came . . .

She would truly—finally—become invisible.

* * *

She was thirteen when it happened.

Her father came home early, slamming the door with a loud bang.

Mackenzie started, freezing with fear. Then she kicked herself and cleared out the Internet's browser history that was filled with topics on surviving alone. She turned off the computer and launched herself onto the couch, landing on the cushions just moments before he turned into the living room.

He'd been drinking. A lot.

His face was flushed and sweaty and he staggered on his feet. It was a miracle that he managed to get home without killing somebody with his car.

He sneered at her as soon as he saw her. "Go'ide," he slurred.

Mackenzie didn't have to ask him to clarify to know what he meant. She jumped off the couch and ran, her socked feet hitting the floor without a sound.

She propelled herself up the stairs, keeping her footsteps light and quick. She was practically wheezing as she tore down the hallway, towards her room.

This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for.

She threw her window open silently, having perfected the quickest and quietest way to open the panel a long time ago. She was on the roof in seconds, shutting the window after her, but she wasn't interested in getting to the ground. Instead, she went higher.

She jumped up and grabbed the edge of the attic roof, her legs dangling in the air. Her face was scrunched up in effort as she pulled the rest of her body onto the roof, her teeth bared at the strain. But she did it. She crawled up the roof's slope and over the peak, down the other side. Because on the other side there was a sturdy oak branch easily within reach.

She reached the lip of the roof, about to stretch for the branch—and scrambled to pull away, back onto the roof. There was a window to the attic right below her, and she could hear Frank inside, moving about.

In her hurry to get back, her body was left in a precarious position. The only thing keeping her from slipping off the roof was her hand, gripping at some of the shingles. But her grip was awkward and her hand was sweaty. Her legs shook from the struggle of trying to keep her from falling, but gravity was pulling hard on her.

She could her him, in the attic, screaming and throwing things around.

 _Just go away_ , she thought, desperate. She knew she couldn't hold on much longer.

She nearly sobbed in relief when she heard the attic door slam, but she didn't have time to celebrate because she lost her grip on the shingles and started to slide towards the edge.

 _You can do this._

Taking deep breaths, she prepared to jump, pushing off the roof a few inches to spare before reaching the brink. She soared through the air, arms stretched out.

"Oof!" She couldn't help but huff when she slammed into a tree branch harder than she expected, wrapping her arms around the wood to keep her from falling. Her legs dangled in empty space, the ground twenty feet below. She grunted, trying to hold on.

She had almost fallen to her death twice in about the same amount of minutes. Maybe gravity was getting revenge.

 _I'm sorry I didn't trip enough for you!_ she snapped, her teeth clenched as she adjusted her hold on the branch. _I'll be sure to trip every day if I make it through this . . . Oh, gosh. I'm talking to gravity. Now I've officially lost it._

Mackenzie pulled herself up, struggling only when she couldn't find a place for her feet, but she eventually did. She found a sturdy branch to sit on, and she sat against the trunk, breathing deeply.

She did it.

She had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep herself from laughing out loud, her heart racing giddily in her chest.

 _She did it._

She was out.

She listened, softening her breathing. She heard him inside the house, yelling and throwing a massive temper tantrum. She had no doubt that the house would be trashed before nightfall.

The screen door that led to the backyard creaked open and shut with a loud snap. She looked down to see her adoptive mother striding towards one of the cars parked in the driveway, her coat and purse in hand.

Mackenzie smiled at the determined look on Valerie's face.

Jack Hudson had lost at his own game.

Valerie paused beside her car, the driver's door open. The woman looked up at the oak, spotting Mackenzie easily, even though the girl was well hidden. She had always known where to find her.

Though they had barely spoken to each other since that day two years ago, there was a deep respect between them, and Mackenzie was grateful for it. She knew that Valerie was too.

So when their eyes met—woman and girl, silent shadows, united by one common enemy—they didn't speak. They simply stared. Then Valerie bowed her head in acknowledgement and farewell to the girl, and Mackenzie did the same.

Valerie's lips twitched, as if she were about to smile, but she ducked into the car, a blank look settling on her face again.

Mackenzie watched the car pull away, then sighed, leaning back against the tree. She gasped, catching a glimpse of something through the leaves. She jumped up to climb higher, her body nimble as she moved among the branches, before settling down on a familiar branch at the top, where there was a break in the leaves.

It was the sunset. A glorious, fiery display.

Mackenzie had never seen anything so beautiful, her eyes wide in wonder. She'd forgotten what a sunset could look like. Ever since she came to the Hudsons when she was nine, she never got a chance to appreciate the sunsets anymore. Most times she was confined to her room during the evenings, and her window faced the east. While there had been some breathtaking sunrises, nothing could compare to the sunset.

Sunsets, no matter how beautiful they were, were always sad. They all had that same sense of finality, bathing everything in a warm glow that somehow made everything more beautiful.

Mackenzie inhaled softly, breathing in the fresh air. Sunsets reminded her of a quote she'd found and memorized, many years ago, by Jean Paul. "The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying."

For a long time, she'd watched the world as if she'd been dying. She held hope for others, especially her friends, but she couldn't find the strength to save some for herself. Did anyone else know what that was like? It was a question she'd asked herself many times before. Did anyone else know what it was like to hopeful and hopeless at the same time? Because it was the saddest feeling in the world.

She could never imagine her future like her friends could. Well, she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to be an architect. She wanted to design grand buildings and beautiful landscapes. But it had always seemed like there was a giant abyss in her way. In her heart, she truly believed that the abyss was her future. She'd spend the rest of her life falling farther and farther, floundering in the dark until—

Nothing.

Her life would be over, in the blink of an eye. She wouldn't have done anything special or impressive or awe-inspiring. She would just be a nobody, lost in the grey until she collapsed and didn't get up again. _That_ had been her future. _That_ had been the life she was prepared to live.

But not now.

Because she was free.

She watched the sunset with contented eyes. The sky was on fire, the clouds lit in a colorful display of oranges and yellows and pinks. The rays of the sun reached her through the leaves, and for the first time in a long time, she felt warm. She realized that the world was bigger than she'd imagined, and possibilities flew through her mind.

But she knew it wouldn't last.

As much as she loved the sun and the warmth it gave, it wasn't where she belonged. It was too easy to hide things in the daylight. People wore fake smiles to match their fake words and fake hair. The sun may be bright, but it was too blind for its own good. It's easy to lie to oneself, to others, during the day. It was easy to be ignorant.

No, she didn't belong to the light of day.

She belonged to the moon, to the darkness. The moon was reality. Its cold beams penetrated through the lies and the falsity. The moon was truth, harsh and unyielding. The moon revealed what the sun could not. It was at night that the monsters revealed themselves, removing the paste they put on their ugly faces to make them beautiful. It was at night that the monsters came out to play. She belonged _there_ , in the veracity of life.

She hadn't been born into darkness. She could barely remember the feeling, but she knew she had been loved once. She had been born into light and warmth and _love_.

She _chose_ darkness, and darkness became her ally. She realized that she did have friends that would always be in her life. They were as real to her as anybody else, and would be with her until the end. Silence . . . Darkness . . . The moon . . . She would never be alone.

She stayed in that tree until the stars came out and the moon shone brightly overhead. The lights in the house were still on, but she knew it was because her father had most likely passed out somewhere.

She began her decent down the tree, no more than a ghost of wind among the leaves. When she reached the lowest branch, she dropped to the ground, landing lightly on her feet, crouching down, her body lithe like a cat's. She could almost imagine her eyes flashing in the moonlight as she swiveled her head around, listening.

The world was quiet with sleep—not even a cricket chirped.

She grinned and jumped to her feet, racing out of the backyard and down the dark street. She danced in the middle of the pavement, where the streetlights on either side barely reached her. Her hair flared about her head as she twirled, laughing and smiling.

The moon, ever watchful, illuminated her from above.

Was it just her imagination, or did the moon shine brighter than normal that night?

She laughed again as she ran down the road, her heart lighter than it'd ever been for years.

Mackenzie Hudson had died in that tree the moment the sun dipped below the horizon. In her place, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a new girl was born. A _stronger_ girl that shone brilliantly like an angel in the moonlight, with nothing or no one to hold her back.

She was born in love, but she walked in solitude. She was born in warmth, but she became ice. She was born in the sun, but she loved the moon.

Mackenzie Hudson was dead. The girl she used to be was gone.

She was Selena now. Just Selena. No last name, no commitment. Just . . . Selena.

Selena grinned and tossed back her head, her arms thrown out to her sides as she spun around slowly and breathed in the cool night air.

She was the Invisible Girl. She'd finally mastered her power.

She skipped along, melting into the shadows of a broken streetlight—and never reappeared again.

As time passed by, people began to forget the little girl with the brown hair and pretty face and sad eyes.

But it wasn't until the last memory faded, like a gentle breeze that tugs at your hair and then departs, that Mackenzie Hudson was really, truly dead.

* * *

It's over now,

I can't go back to living through your eyes,

Too many lies.

And if you don't know by now,

I can't go back to being someone else,

Not anymore.

I never had the chance to do things my way,

So now it's time for me to take control.

* * *

 **Chapter soundtrack: Try It on My Own by Whitney Houston.**

 **For my newcomers, I usually try to do a song to go with my chapters/oneshots. You don't have to listen to them if you don't want to, but I believe that music helps make the story more alive and memorable.**

 **So? How was it? Hate it, love it, eh-it-was-okay? Drop a review and let me hear your thoughts. I love to hear what my readers think. :)**

 **See you in Part Two.**


	2. Part Two: Breath of Life

I was looking for a breath of life,

A little touch of heavenly light,

But all the choirs in my head sang "no".

To get a dream of life again,

A little vision of the start and the end,

But all the choirs in my head sang "no".

—Florence + The Machine, "Breath of Life"

* * *

A shadow passed over the alley, gone in the blink of an eye. There was barely a sound, except for a soft whisper that could have been caused by a small breeze. But the next alley over—there it was again. And again.

Footsteps, light and steady, raced across the roofs, briefly taking flight as they leapt over the gaps between the rundown brick buildings.

The neighborhood was silent, because most people were tucked away in their beds. Most, not all.

There were only two kinds of people out this late at night—the thieves and the scum.

There was a difference between the two, mind you. Thieves had a special code that they abided by, an understood set of rules. Well, two rules, actually.

Rule number one—never do something without style. In fact, the entire act of stealing was all about style and class. It didn't matter how big the steal was. What really mattered was how you did it.

Rule number two—never get cocky and never get selfish. Okay, that statement wasn't entirely accurate since most times you were stealing for yourself, so you already had to be selfish. Here, how about this: Don't get selfish _er_. When you're stealing, you need to know when to stop, or risk getting caught.

Anyone who didn't follow those rules were considered scum.

And _this_ thief, who was jumping rooftops, followed those rules as if their life depended on it.

And _this_ thief, known only as Selena, had already made a name for herself at the young age of fifteen.

She'd been on her own for two years now, and in that time she managed to pick up impressive hacking skills and embraced the lifestyle of a thief . . . and earned a small reputation as a secret vigilante.

When she had run away from her disaster of a home, she had immediately sought out to look for a job. She'd stayed in an abandoned house in case her abusive father came looking for her—he never did.

Because she'd been pulled out of school a long time ago, there was no one to miss her but her friends, but even they didn't think much of it when she suddenly stopped coming to their bowling nights. And because of this, there wasn't anyone who cared.

She found a job helping out an elderly lady called Aunt Poppy with things such as groceries and housekeeping. The lady paid well enough, and within a few weeks she had enough money for bus fare and provisions.

Even though she hated it, it was easy to lie to the old woman about her parents and her situation, and it was just as easy to lie about why she had to leave. Thankfully the lady didn't question too much and gave her a generous parting payment.

Selena took a bus that dropped her off several towns over, where she found a job as an apprentice to a computer technician by day, genius hacker by night. She stayed there for close to a year and a half, and it was best experience of her life.

His name was Ryan Smith and he gladly took on Selena as an apprentice. He saw the natural talent in her—the intelligence—for computer coding and hacking. He taught her everything he knew in less than a year because she was an incredible student, absorbing the information as if it was water and she was dying of thirst in the desert.

Even though she'd been taught as much as possible from Ryan, she continued to stay on as his employee, helping people with their computers and even enjoying the freedom of being able to go to the movies with some kids from the neighborhood.

She wished she could've stayed longer, but she began to feel like something was missing. She wanted . . . she wanted to be helping people, and not in the way she had been. She wanted to help where it really mattered.

It was hard saying goodbye to the mentor that had become like family to her, but she left with the assurance that she was welcome back any time.

Ryan had given her a decent salary while she'd worked with him, and she had enough money to take her all the way to a small suburb in Chicago, where she's been ever since.

Ryan also gave her several computers to work on, and although they were a pain to travel with, she knew she couldn't leave them behind. Not just because they would come in handy, but because they were a gift, from a person with good intentions.

She found a vacant apartment building that hadn't been touched by gangs yet and housed up there. She'd set up her computers, tapping into the electrical lines just enough to power them and the microwave.

She didn't try to get another job, practicing the skills of a pickpocket instead, and then small-time thefts, and eventually valuable items—selling them on the black market.

At night, she roamed the neighborhood, running across rooftops and taking down dirt bags, sometimes personally and sometimes through a phone call to the police.

And tonight was no different.

Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that swung back and forth as she ran, her boot-clad feet silent on the pavement. Her breaths came in controlled gasps, white clouds of moisture expelled between her lips.

She leapt onto the edge of the roof and pushed off with all her might, soaring through the chilly night air. She tucked in her body and landed with a roll onto the other roof, finishing in a crouch.

"Stop it!"

Selena froze.

"Let me go!"

The voice was faint, belonging to a distraught woman. The teen could hear the jeers and laughter of men even from where she was, six stories up. Cautious, she moved to one side of the building and peered over the edge.

In the alley below she could see a young woman being tossed around between two brutes. "Please, just let me go," she begged, tears evident in her voice.

"Not a chance, sweetheart," one of the men said, voice slightly slurred.

Selena swung her legs over the edge and jumped onto the fire escape that was below, her landing soft. She descended the rest of the metal stairway, almost dancing as she dropped between levels, nothing more than a shadow.

The same man that had spoken earlier now had the woman pressed against the wall, his hands placed on either side of her head. The other man stood back, under the fire escape.

Selena's lips curled in disgust and she crept forward, holding her breath. She bit her bottom lip in concentration . . . then pounced.

She landed on the onlooker, both going down. The man collapsed hard on the pavement with a yell, but Selena landed lightly and rolled to her feet.

"Hey!" the other guy (Selena decided to call him Sleaze, because he _was_ a sleaze bag) yelled, forgetting about the woman and turning to face the intruder. "Who're you?" he growled. The young woman behind him took off after sparing Selena a grateful glance, her heels echoing in the alley.

Selena flipped her ponytail off her shoulder, her arms crossed casually. "Just a concerned citizen."

"'Concerned citizen, my foot," the second man groaned, getting up from the ground.

"A pretty little lady like you doesn't belong here," Sleaze said with a grotesque smile as he slowly approached her from the side, trying to cut off her escape.

"Oh, you know," Selena said with a shrug, inspecting her nails. "I thought I'd just . . . "—she smiled wickedly at the second man—"drop in."

"How kind of you."

Selena stiffened at the new voice, her eyes widening. Two other men appeared out of the shadows of a deep-set archway in one of the brick walls.

She was surrounded before she knew it. Four muscle-bound dudes with no sympathy for fifteen-year-old girls spelled out certain disaster for her. She could take two guys at once, but four? Forget it.

Sleaze pulled out a knife and waved it around. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he said.

Selena looked around and saw the other three pounding hands together or cracking their knuckles in anticipation. It was so cliché that she would've laughed if it weren't for the fact that she was about to become nonexistent.

Heart pounding, she opened her mouth to say something that would most likely result in her face getting pounded into the pavement, but someone else beat her to it.

"It's not nice to pick on little girls."

Everyone turned at the sound of the voice to see a stranger standing in the shadows underneath a broken lamppost at the end of the alley.

Indignant, Selena snapped, "Who are you calling a little girl?"

The new comer ignored her and walked forward, addressing the men again. "I thought your mothers taught you better than that. Oh, wait most of you probably kicked her out of her own house." He finally stepped into the ring of light, smirking. "Am I right?"

The men around Selena visibly relaxed. "He's just a kid," one of them hissed to the others.

Sleaze snorted. "I didn't even have a mother, boy." He grinned, twirling the knife in his hand.

The stranger, a boy of about seventeen years of age, shrugged. "That's unfortunate. But then again . . . neither did I."

The atmosphere shifted so fast that Selena almost believed her ears popped. She watched as the pleasant expression drained away from the boy's face, his eyes growing hard and cold.

The men sensed the heartlessness in the teen before them and they shifted nervously, looking to Sleaze for orders.

The man narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the knife. "Get him." He rushed forward, knife stretched out, but the boy grabbed the man's wrist before the knife was thrust into his chest and deflected it to the side, spinning around Sleaze and kicking him in the middle of the back.

He was grabbed from behind, arms hooking around his own and pinning them back. The man holding him was the guy Selena had gotten the drop on . . . literally. Another man rushed at the teen from the front, but the boy lifted his legs and kicked the man square in the chest, sending all of them reeling away from each other.

Bump-on-the-Head and Dark-and-Handsome-Stranger fell against one of the walls of the alley, Bumpy grunting on impact and loosening his grip. The teen pulled one of his arms away only to slam it into Bumpy's diaphragm.

Selena was frozen in place, watching, but her trance was broken when the fourth man grabbed her arm, his other hand curled into a fist and reared back. Selena's instincts kicked in and she planted the heel of her sneaker without mercy on his . . . sensitive area. It wasn't the flashiest move, but the results were instantaneous. Now free, she turned away from the groaning man to see Thing 2 getting up from his place on the ground, where he'd fallen after the boy kicked him.

Sleaze had joined Bumpy and they were fighting with the older teen, leaving Thing 1 and Thing 2 all to herself.

"Hey, stupid!" Selena called to Thing 2. Like expected, he turned to face her. She raised a fist and rushed at him, her feet gliding over the ground. He braced himself, feet spread apart, just like she had hoped he would.

When she was only a couple of paces away, she dropped to the ground and slid between his legs. As she slipped by, she lashed out and latched onto one of his ankles, yanking his leg out from under him. He crashed onto the pavement, a loud crack splitting the air when his nose smacked the ground.

Selena grinned, but it disappeared as she yelped in pain when her ponytail was pulled hard from behind, her head tipping back. Thing 1 dragged her by her hair, and her feet scrambled to lessen the strain on her skull, her face twisted into a grimace.

She reached up and grabbed his wrist with both hands, tears stinging her eyes. She got her feet under herself long enough to spin under his arm, twisting it with her. His arm snapped and he yelled, cursing in pain. Selena stood up only to duck away from the fist he swung at her face, his broken arm cradled to his chest.

Thing 2 joined his buddy, blood staining the lower half of his face. Together, they drove Selena back, who was slowly beginning to tire from dodging their coordinated attacks. She bumped against something and glanced over her shoulder to find that she and the boy were back-to-back, surrounded by the four brutes.

Sleaze and Bumpy looked about as good as Thing 1 and Thing 2. Sleaze's shoulder was dislocated and Bumpy looked like he'd gotten bonked on his head more than was necessary. Poor guy.

The boy looked over his shoulder at her, and for a split second, their eyes met and time slowed. Something clicked in each of them and they nodded at each other. Time resumed and everyone moved at once. The four rushed in at the same time and the two teens danced around each other, a flurry of limbs and twirling bodies.

Selena had always worked alone. She didn't think she could trust anyone as much as she trusted herself—her heart didn't have the room for anyone else.

Whenever she felt the rush she got from sneaking around in buildings or jumping between rooftops, she imagined it was the same exhilaration she'd get if she could fly like a bird. If she could be any bird, she'd choose to be a great blue heron—they built nests in little communities, but they flew alone, solitary and majestic. She'd picture the world below her, the sky above her, and everything else in between—all hers. She was alone, the wind rushing between her feathers . . .

But when she looked to the side, there was a raven flying beside her, black as the night, silent as death. A feeling overcame her, setting her blood on fire. Something linked them to each other, something in common: silence. They were ghosts in the world in which they lived. They understood each other's need to disappear.

They stood with shoulders touching, chests heaving, facing opposite ends of the alley, with the limp forms of four men lying around their feet.

"Who are you?" Selena breathed, glancing over at the boy. Adrenaline pumped in her veins, her hands shaking with energy.

He met her eyes, the hard look disappearing from his face. "Just a concerned citizen," he said, flashing a winning smile, and _darn it if her heart didn't skip a beat_.

Selena laughed, lifting her eyes to the sky. The boy started to walk down the alley and she turned to follow, lagging behind a few steps. "I've never seen you around before," she said, looking down as she carefully stepped over the unconscious form of Bumpy.

"Well, that's because I'm n—"

When the boy broke off, Selena lifted her gaze to see that he had stopped several feet away to face her, his face frozen in horror.

"Wh—" she began to ask, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Watch out!" he yelled, lunging forward.

Selena gasped and turned, coming face-to-face with Sleaze, just as the knife ripped into her, burying up to its hilt.

Selena's eyes widened in shock, one hand hovering around the blade. Her lips parted, but nothing came out—not sound, not air. She felt strangely detached with unbelief, the knife sticking out of her gut, Sleaze grinning wickedly down at her.

"No!"

She heard the boy scream and could only watch as he shoved Sleaze away from her, the older teen taking out one of Sleaze's knees, causing his legs to buckle. Sleaze yelled when he landed on his shattered kneecap, but it was cut off when the boy grabbed the man's head and slammed it into his knee, breaking Sleaze's nose.

Sleaze tried to throw a punch through his tears, but the boy caught his fist and bent it the wrong way, fracturing his wrist.

"What are you?" the man hissed, barely conscious through the pain.

The boy's face was expressionless, but his eyes were cold. There was no light in them, no warmth, no sympathy . . . no mercy.

"I'm the last face you'll ever see," the boy spat. He lashed out his hands and twisted, snapping the man's neck before he could even blink.

Selena jerked away then, gasping and stumbling back, her shaking hands gripping the hilt of the knife. The pain was unbearable and she let out an agonized cry. There was movement at the edge of her vision, the boy rushing to her, but she was already falling . . . falling . . . falling . . .

Arms caught her before she collapsed to the ground, one of her hands slipping away and bouncing against the pavement. Her eyes stared up at the night sky that was visible between the two buildings, but she couldn't see any stars. It was just a black canvas, a vast expanse of nothingness.

The boy leaned over her, but she didn't see him. His mouth moved, but she couldn't hear him. All she could hear was silence and the tiny exhales that escaped between her parted lips, little puffs of mist billowing out into the air.

Her lips curled upwards at the corners in a small smile. Fluffy flakes of snow had begun to fall gently, landing on her skin like little kisses before they melted. Soon, her eyelashes were decorated with the white crystals, and the sky was filled with snow that drifted down out of the dark in lazy dances. The sight was lulling her to sleep, her eyes half-lidded.

She almost didn't feel the pain, but it was still there, sparking up every nerve of her being, but she found she couldn't move, couldn't speak. It was as if her body and soul had separated, leaving her numb and blank.

A hand cupped her cheek, warm and gentle. Her eyes slid over until she was gazing up at the boy's face. He was trying to speak to her, but she still couldn't hear him.

Arms hefted her up, cradling her to a solid chest, and that was the last thing she knew before her eyelids fluttered closed and her consciousness fell away.

* * *

Her eyes snapped open.

Pain.

Light.

Sound.

Everything hurt.

She felt sick.

Voices?

What were they saying?

Blood rushed in her ears.

Wait—screaming? Was someone screaming?

She was moving, bounced up and dow—

No, now she was lying on her back.

The world spun when she opened her eyes, a light blaring down at her from above. Shadows swirled at the edges of her vision, vaguely taking shape before disappearing. Everything was blurry and confusing and she just wanted the pain _to go away._

Her stomach was in agony, and something kept prodding and poking at it, bringing tears to her eyes. She tried to tell whatever it was to stop, but her voice wouldn't work. She wanted to scream but she couldn't, not through the sobs that she could barely choke out.

It hurt so bad, she couldn't breathe, sh-she couldn't, couldn't . . .

And then—

Nothing.

* * *

Nothing.

Nothing . . .

N . . . nothing.

Absolutely . . .

Nothing.

She'd had nothing to call her own her entire life. No home, no toys, no family.

 _Tired . . . So tired._

That's right. She was so tired of everything, of being alone, of being forced to grow up too fast. She could preach about how much she loved independence, but she was only fifteen. She should've been hanging out with her friends, having sleepovers and going shopping and suffering through high school together. Instead, she lived in abandoned buildings, fending for herself, struggling every day just to make it to the end of the week.

And for what?

What was the point?

She had chosen this life, but why? Why couldn't she just get help, get placed into a better home?

Because she was tired of being disappointed. Every time she moved in with a new family, there was always that little hope she'd finally found her place. And every time she was always let down.

She was just sick of it all. She knew that if she let go right then and there, it would be over in seconds. If she gave up . . . that was it. Game over.

But . . .

She didn't.

Because she was stronger than that. As much as she hated it, she was too strong and too proud to just give up. But she didn't know how to win, either.

 _Wake up._

A stabbing pain split her skull. The voice was feminine, familiar.

Her body was heavy, her limbs weighed down, but something was changing inside of her. It was as if her body started to buzz with awareness, her heart beginning to thud a little stronger in her chest.

 _Wake up._

A steady hammering started up in her head, just behind her temple.

 _Mom?_ she asked, confused.

No . . . not her mom. Her . . .

The throbbing grew stronger.

Her mom left when she was two. And her dad . . . He disappeared when she was four. Not even the cops knew where he went.

 _Wake up._

She approached a wall of black glass, her bare feet padding across a smooth floor, as dark as ebony.

The pain wasn't just in her head anymore. It pulsed throughout her entire body, from a single point in her stomach.

 _Wake up._

She squinted at the glass, at a figure materializing as she crept closer. It was a girl, barely visible, wearing a white dress that fell to her knees, her hair cascading over her shoulders.

She was too far away to see the girl's face clearly.

 _Wake up._

She placed a hand against her stomach when it seized uncomfortably, and it came away wet. She looked down she see her palm covered with blood. Then she noticed with a gasp that she was wearing the same dress as the girl in the glass, a red stain stark against the white fabric of her midsection.

She raised her eyes and found herself standing inches away from the glass, staring into the eyes of her reflection. Her breath caught in her throat at the hard look in the eyes of the echo, the firm set of her lips. She was taken aback at how beautiful she was, in cold and unsettling kind of way. It was her, and yet . . . it wasn't.

 _Wake up._

The girl's lips didn't move, but she heard her voice—her own voice, commanding and icy—in her head, and she realized that she wasn't just staring at herself. She was staring at the embodiment of her will to live, her determination to survive, at the raw beauty inside of her.

The blood soaked the fabric of her dress more quickly now, and her reflection, whose dress had been unblemished before, now began to stain too, pooling from a single point on her stomach before spreading and dripping down the skirt.

She glanced up at the girl's face, and something snapped.

Her reflection lunged forward, fist slamming against the glass, creating a spider web of cracks. Eyes wild, she opened her mouth and screamed—

 _WAKE UP._

Selena's eyes snapped open, lungs inhaling softly.

Everything was out of focus, and the room tilted a little bit, but she swallowed her nausea and stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what happened.

"You're awake."

This time the voice wasn't in her head, but her ears. She glanced to her side and was met with eyes gazing steadily back at her. It was as if those hazel orbs unlocked something inside of her mind and the memories came rushing back.

The woman.

The men.

The fight.

The knife.

 _Him._

And speaking of _him_ . . . Selena glanced over at the boy. "You saved me," she whispered, her voice rough.

"Well, I couldn't just leave you to die in a disgusting alley," he said with a crooked grin. "That would be rude."

Selena laughed—or started to, but then winced when the action caused her stomach to pull painfully.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, during which Selena fought to keep her eyes open, but she was so warm and tired . . .

"You did good back there, Sly," the boy murmured.

Selena hummed in thanks, a small smile on her lips, her eyes closed. But—

She opened her eyes, brows furrowed. "Sly?" she asked, looking over to him.

He grinned, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I watched you fight. Your movements were so fluid and silent, it was like you weren't bound by gravity." He paused, looking apologetic. "Also . . . I've kinda . . . been following you for a while."

Selena's confusion deepened. "What?"

The boy squirmed in his seat. "I spotted you my first night here. You were so quiet, like you were a ghost or something. You reminded me of a spy."

"What was I doing?" Selena rasped, not weirded out . . . yet.

"You were casing the next place you were going to hit," he said with a smirk.

"Oh." Selena licked her dry lips and took her first good look around.

It was a small apartment of a grungy building, but the room itself was well-kept, mostly because there was hardly anything in it. She was lying on an old couch, a ratty blanket tucked around her. The boy was sitting on a wooden chair that had seen better days, the matching table was in the corner of the room. There was a door set in the opposite wall of the couch, which she assumed led to the bathroom (it didn't look like there was a bedroom). A beaten refrigerator sat against the wall next to the only window that looked out over the neighborhood.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"You mean, 'Why am I in this dump and not in the hospital?' Well, you were, but I got you out of there as soon as I could before they could start asking questions." The boy smiled at her, his gaze reassuring. "Don't worry. I have all the supplies we're going to need to make sure your wound doesn't get infected."

Selena's voice thrummed in her throat in response, her eyes closing again. "What's your name?" she whispered, on the verge of sleep.

She opened her eyes long enough to see him give her that charming smile that made her heart weak for just a moment.

"Name's Chase." His eyes were bright as he watched her. "What's yours?"

"Selena," she said, her lips curling upwards at the corners, eyes closed.

She heard him chuckle, then say, "Get some rest. You need it."

Happy to oblige, Selena began to let her conscience slip away, but the smile remained.

She had relied on her independence for years, thriving on the rush it gave her. Chase threatened that independence, and she had a feeling that he'd be sticking around for a while. But she hadn't realized just how alone she was until he came along, and she wasn't looking forward to going back to her solitude any time soon.

Chase brought a different kind of rush with him, an air of unpredictability, a feeling of freedom she didn't expect.

She was losing control of her life, control that she had fought so long and hard for. She was hanging off a cliff, fingers slipping, a black chasm spanning out below her dangling feet. She was afraid to let go, but she did.

She didn't know what to expect anymore, but . . . that was okay.

She was falling into the unknown, embracing a life she wondered if she was ready for.

What she needed now was faith, trust, and maybe a little pixie dust.

* * *

But I only needed one more touch,

Another taste of heavenly rush.

And I believe, I believe it so.

And I only needed one more touch,

Another taste of devouring rush.

And I believe, I believe it so.

* * *

 **Chapter soundtrack: Breath of Life by Florence + The Machine.**

 **Okay, so maybe the soundtrack doesn't exactly fit the story, but when I heard it, I was like, "This is so AWESOME."**

 **So I used it.**

 **It's just the kind of theme song I could imagine playing for Selena when she's kicking butt or doing something cool.**

 **But anyway.**

 **What did you guys think? Do you like Selena better now that you got a chance to know her a little more or is her character not that great? Was the ending kind of rushed?**

 **I will be writing a miniseries describing Chase's absence during the period between _Fight Forever_ and _Unearthed_ , which includes the time he and Selena spent together after they met, so the duo will be back (hopefully soon).**

 **Hope you guys are doing well, and I'll see you next time. :)**


End file.
